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The Man in the Maze

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Where do I go from here?

The Tohono O’odham people cherish the symbol of I’ITOI, the Man in the Maze.  I have seen this symbolic artwork many times on trips to southern Arizona.  It is of a man standing at the top of a circular tribal looking maze.  However, it wasn’t until my daughter Heather sent me a postcard from there did I possess one nor know the meaning (thanks to the brief explanation on the card).  Basically the symbol depicts a life; starting at the top following the path, acquiring knowledge, strength and understanding, nearer the middle one reflects back on wisdom gained as they move closer to the end in the center.  Initially she and in turn me were attracted to this one because the symbol is black on a white card, (I have long favored the illusion and absence of color).

I saved it and a couple of years later, while writing my story of Life with Sarrah more of the meaning found me.  Keeping it in the binder, I look at it often.

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Frost

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Regardless of what the calendar tells us, our winter weather shows up (or doesn’t) when it feels like it, displaying another perk of living with our northern marine air.  During this time of year most things have a steel grey tone as the night takes a larger portion of the day and the sun often fails to shine through.  Even our evergreen plants seem darker, lacking in their color.  The once bright signs of Fall lose their color and clump into soggy piles of last years’ leftovers in the corners, becoming dreary coverings of decay and dormancy.

In the lower elevated, more populated areas of the Pacific Northwest we tend to be cold and often damp.  But on occasion, ready or not we have freezing temperatures and wake up to a bright fresh glazing of frost.  Sarrah discovered this crunch of frozen grass under paw to be a treat, loving to run with her nose right on the sparkling tips of the frosted blades.  Consumed with excitement by the mischievous spirit of Jack Frost tickling and tingling her snorting nose she would gasp for air while zigzagging the leash, dragging me around the block.  This annual random occurrence under the glowing streetlights was always good fun and warmed me with a smile.

 

‘Twas the Season…

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‘Twas the season… earlier, yet again.  Sarrah and I enjoyed another ‘ever encroaching’ season for our evening walks to be lit by the sporadic houses participating in multi-colored Christmas accents.  Though I do not adorn my house with lights, I do make an effort to appreciate the works of those who do, Even if they insist on doing this further into November.  This year the lights seemed more special, so we varied our route and changed things up a bit to see and experience a little more.  Much like a movie, on our quiet evening walks my mind took me back through many of Christmas seasons of the past, most bright and delightful, some a little less, but all memories worth having.  I typically have more of a seasonal chaos and yearend stress induced ‘Bah, Humbug’ attitude around this time of year.  Even after the excess commercial nonsense and profiteering junk is scraped off, Christmas is still a bittersweet holiday for me.

The Holiday Season

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As the year winds down, festivities compress what time remains.  The usual events, rituals and traditions combine to make the last couple of months blur into a final season.  I am grateful that Sarrah was able to be here for ‘The Holiday Season’, one more time.

Sarrah was part of my increasingly favored holiday and our recent annual tradition of gathering at The Beach House for a few days around Thanksgiving joining; us, my parents Esther and Stan, Nissa’s mom Gail, the cats and our beach neighbor friends Mike, Lori and Jessica for another extended weekend of giving Thanks.  We individually gather and stay there for a few days, making the holiday more about being with family and friends than just an over planned annual meal.  It seems the added time in this place allows the traditional stress to dissolve and the true flavor of giving thanks takes over.  Sarrah was part of it all; inhaling all the smells of the cooking feast, scoring human food snacks, walking with her toes in the sand, barking orders at cats, collecting affectionate pats from all and constantly reminded me to be thankful.  This year the quiet moments were a bit heavier and at times a little saddening, but moments like these helped me remember and define others.

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Cut-Grass

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While mowing my lawn, for the last time this season, I was smiling and remembering many portions of different …days-gone-by

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I am not sure whether it was quality time with me, decent weather or the smell of cut grass that Sarrah liked most.  While mowing the lawn (after the first few scary experiences with the noisy mower) Sarrah enjoyed being a part of this chore.  In the backyard she’d run alongside, and occasionally throw bones or toys in front of the mower to slow me down.  She delighted in making me stop to move the obstacle and often then make a high speed pass running by with a huge smile.  I would then throw this distraction and she would run to retrieve it.  Sarrah would wait for a clump of grass carelessly dropped by the mower to land so she could grab it and trot around, head held high, like a little horse chewing on it.  I can see her now, my green-footed little speckle job groaning, rolling and wriggling on her back, getting an aromatic back scratch from the newly cut lawn.

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Walking vs. Working

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I believed that by taking a break midday I would just have to add that time onto the end of my workday.  I was wrong.  This break away actually recharged my brain with fresh air and made the rest of the day more productive, noticeably better.  Time out in the sun removed the distraction of it through glass, much like being out in wet weather restores appreciation for indoor work.  Regardless of the weather, getting outside to walk a mile loosened my back and made an improvement to my workday.  Our typical midday walk evolved into including a long stretch of the road aptly named, Marine View Drive.  This million-dollar view makes for a great walk with a glimpse of the Olympic Mountains, behind the Vashon and Bainbridge Islands across the Puget Sound.   

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Along the route we discovered a few older wind damaged trees from where eagles like to watch the world and nest, one even cried for us one day.  In eagle speak, it was probably yelling at us.  Sarrah just looked up at it for a moment, and then went back to sniffing.  I had never noticed these majestic birds, living within a quarter mile of me, before we started walking this road.  For many of my workdays, our walk simply became the best part.  When my dad retired he would join us, typically on Tuesdays.  We would walk and then go to lunch.  I knew it and thought about it often, that these days would become fond memories.

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Maybe?

Maybe?

How can an animal have such an impact on a person’s life?

The simple answer, over painted with a worn-out brush “Unconditional Love” does not work for me, I feel it is more than that.

Maybe?
Some of them are angels.

Adventure!

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Sarrah delighted in all aspects of going to the Peninsula.  She usually sat up and looked out the windows the entire way there, to watch the world as it went on by.  The journey from where we live starts with on average an hour of ‘freeway hell’, racing with the self absorbed rats on the paved necessary ugliness, known as Interstate 5.  Then off onto Highway 101 where it gradually devolves from too much civilization and overpopulation into a sort of peaceful time travel back through the woods and near a few old small towns, too tough to die.  This leg of the journey is packed with many little things that busy people miss or find “boring”.  These things like mountains, forested land, rivers, cattle, wildlife; deer, coyotes, porcupines, elk, eagles, hawks and even bears were all noticed and points of interest mentally noted by my road wise companion.

Familiarity joined us as we learned and remembered the details of the road.  Sarrah began to recognize the Montesano exit, about a third of the way there and would start with howls and growls, eventually twirling in place with delight.  This spot marked the end of four-lane travel and the start of rural highways complete with the lost in time feel; proof and promise of adventure!